Delusions
by KodiakWolfe13
Summary: Bruce learns that medication on children turns them into little weirdoes... (One-Shot.)(For my awesome buddy, SweetyKinz.)(Part 3 of the "Oh Boys..." series but one does not have to read the other two to understand.)


**Disclaimer: I totally own Batman. Totally. I'm not lying or anything! (*sobs into hands because I'm lying*)**

* * *

 _Dick (9 Years Old)_

* * *

There had been many twists and turns throughout trying to figure how to raise a child. Most of them had been unexpected and the ever calm Batman had been surprised by some of these turns for the first time in many, _many_ years. Only the Joker had managed to surprise him in such a way and the Dark Knight couldn't believe an innocent _kid_ could measure up to that maniac's level of unexpectedness.

…and now Bruce was unconsciously comparing kids to the Joker… _fan-fucking-tastic_ …what a way to end the day, if he did say so himself…

However, some of these unexpected plot-twists were good (unlike the Joker, who only brought death and suffering to all, curse his soul), such as Dick being overly excited to show Bruce a good grade on an English test and taking up the role as Batman's partner so he could fight for justice, just as Bruce as sworn to do. Little Dick even sought his mentor out in the middle of the night to have help with his problems, believing Bruce had all the answers the world had to ask him (actually, Bruce didn't know how much he appreciated being woken up when he wanted to sleep but the thought was endearing, nonetheless).

But, just as there was always good twists that could make even the hardest hearts swell with love and pride, there were the bad ones as well. This definitely fit under the category of 'one of the worst clotheslines the universe has ever given me.'

Dick, still halfway dressed up in his Robin garb, lay on one of the cots in the infirmary. From his quiet, nonsensical murmurings and half-lidded eyes, Bruce could tell he was still awake but only barely. The nine-year-old moved occasionally but always froze when he shifted his bandaged, left shoulder a little bit. Then he would groan quietly and settle back down, unconsciously waiting for the pain medication to finally kick in and numb his aching limb until he could barely use it properly anymore.

Bruce, decked out in his Batman attire but cowl pooling around his throat, stood a small distance from the cot, frowning in dismay and worry. He always perked when the smaller-than-normal boy shifted and frowned deeper when Dick quickly gave up trying to move around each time. If he hadn't been so knocked out and in so much pain, his young ward would be yapping nonstop about their awesome night of taking down scumbags and locking loony-birds up in Arkham so they could receive the help they needed (if they didn't decide to escape again, that is). Dick would have his legs over the side of the bed and swing them constantly and he would yawn, tired but not quite ready to go to sleep to gain the energy he would need for the oncoming day.

Though he'd never known it before this moment, Bruce rather liked Dick's happy voice. It made the cave not so dark and gloomy, as it had been before, and the Manor wasn't ever silent anymore. It was a wonderful change from the dreary atmosphere that had taken over Bruce's home since he was no more than a youngster and his parents had been brutally killed in an alleyway.

Tonight had been a rough one, though most of the other superheroes would've thought it would've been easier without any of the loonies popping up with some evil scheme. None of them seemed to realize that the sane humans could be just as bad as Poison Ivy or Two-Face or Scarecrow or any number of the villains locked up in Arkham. After all, no one ever expected their average Joe neighbor to be a killer, a thief, a sex offender, or some other kind of con. It made catching and tracking them a hell of a lot harder when they weren't wearing some crazy get-up and using some ridiculous gimmick.

Among the many muggings and rapes they stopped, the Dynamic Duo had also brought down a drug-ring that also dubbed as a human-trafficking business and a bank robbery on one of Gotham's biggest banks, where Dick had been shot. Neither of the two had known there was a guy that had been missing until that one man had finally shown up from the back of the vault, firing the gun like mad, not only hitting Robin but his partners as well out of hysterical fear of being beaten by the Dark Knight and his young sidekick.

Even with one of them injured, the Dynamic Duo had managed to subdue the crew. They hadn't stuck around long after that though. The Dark Knight had swept the Boy Wonder up, speeding back to base in the one of the fastest cars on the planet. It had been on auto-pilot for the majority of the ride, Batman too preoccupied with trying to stop Robin's shoulder from bleeding and calling Alfred to drive.

Being the obnoxious optimist that he was, Dick had managed to smile for most of the ride, cracking jokes as he got a little sleepier with each passing moment. Batman, of course, had seen him flinch plenty of times but the young child had brushed it off every time, telling the Dark Knight that 'he was starting to see things; you should probably get some more sleep, Bruce.'

The events had led up to this quiet moment, where the Dark Knight kept silent vigil over his young ward while said young ward waited half-consciously for the pain to dull in his shoulder.

Bruce perked again as Dick began to restlessly move around on the cot again, groaning and moaning as he tried to find a comfortable spot. This time, he didn't settle down almost immediately and, for the first time in awhile, the kid spoke. He slurred Bruce's name with an impish grin on his face, reaching in the general direction of where the man was standing. The boy's mentor obliged, moving to stand beside the cot and taking Dick's reaching hand lightly in his gloved one. With a small, curious look on his face, the Dark Knight asked, "Yeah, Chum? What's the matter?"

Dick giggled at the affectionate nickname, though he would deny ever having done so, and grinned the most happy, oblivious grin Bruce had ever seen on the kid before. Still chipper as ever, the Boy Wonder drearily asked, "Brucie, will you take me flying now?"

'Flying' was Dick's term for bounding back and forth on his trapeze set, leaping from building to building, and swinging through the air on a grappling hook. It was the closest thing Dick could get to ever having his favorite superpower and Bruce could confidently say that the boy was addicted to the adrenaline rush. Seriously. One of the few times Dick had broken a limb (ironically enough, it hadn't even happened because of their nightly jobs but by Dick sliding down the banister again), he'd been benched for a month and Bruce literally thought the boy was going to jump out of a window at any given moment by week two, Dick had been so anxious.

So, with that thought in mind, Bruce replied to his young ward, "Not right now, Chum. We're going to have to fly some other time. You're not exactly doing so hot right now."

"But I wanna go flying~!" Dick whined, pouting at his mentor adorably. His lip turned outward as the corners of his mouth twisted downwards. His blue, dazed eyes teared up on command, as usual when he wasn't getting his way. In an attempt to clasp his hands, another tactic he always used, he held onto the top of Bruce's gloved hand while he squeezed the man's palm weakly. "Please, Brucie~!"

"Yeah, like hell I'm gonna let you on a trapeze when you're only half-conscious…" Bruce mumbled, rolling his eyes at Dick's attempt at swaying him from his set-in-stone decision. He said it low enough so the boy couldn't hear and, even if he could, Dick probably wouldn't understand what he meant anyways. Still, the Dark Knight had to reply or his ward was going to beg until he passed out so Bruce answered, "You know Dick, if you go to sleep, you can fly in your dreams and have just as much fun as you would have on a trapeze."

Batman's simple statement made the man's young charge gasp in astonishment and his glassy eyes sparkled with joy that made Bruce think, ' _He's so easy sometimes_.'

"Really, Brucie? I will?" Dick asked hopefully. It was extremely easy for the Dark Knight to nod his head in a yes, making the young boy release his hold on his hand, cover himself messily with his blanket, and close his eyes. It was only a bit longer before the boy was completely conked out, prancing around in lullaby land as the birds sang pop songs from the radio and the rabbits talked with extremely deep voices that only belonged on tall, intimidating men.

Grinning to himself in satisfaction, Bruce watched Dick sleep for a little longer before Alfred reappeared in the doorway, wandering in with two mugs of tea. The aging butler looked from his first ward to the youngest resident in the Manor as he walked in, setting the tray he held on a table near the cot as he said, "I see that Master Richard has been coxed to sleep."

Nodding a little bit as he took one of the mugs from the small table, Bruce replied, "That he has. Although, when we take him upstairs, we're going to need to lock all the windows and make sure Dick can't get past the grandfather clock."

Showing no surprise (because what could surprise him anymore, after all the years of serving Bruce?), Alfred picked up the second mug, not being one to waste, and asked, "Oh, and why is that, Master Bruce?"

"Well, Dick wanted to go flying and I told him he could in his dreams… So, if he starts sleepwalking again, we all know where he's gonna head."

Alfred sighed, exasperated but not surprised in the least. Bruce nodded in agreement as the Englishman said, "Bless the young master's sweet heart."

* * *

 _Jason (12 Years Old)_

* * *

Rubbing his tired face with his gloved hands, Bruce sighed as he sat in the chair pulled up next to the cot where Jason slept peacefully. Bandages covered the young boy's bare chest, covering his torso almost completely. The lower portion of his body was covered with his red tights and a worn blanket. Jason's ebony hair was one heck of a mess, sticking up in all directions and clinging to his sweat-covered forehead. Somehow, he managed to look peaceful in his sleep, though only a little bit earlier he had been squirming as Alfred tried to attend to his fractured ribs.

It had been an eventful night, to say the least. Arkham had another break-out but, fortunately, managed to keep most of the hardcore loony-birds from escaping. Only a few of the lower-risk inmates had managed to slip away while the bigger villains, such as Harlequin and Mr. Freeze, were still kept in their cells as the doctors attempted to shoo the insanity away with therapy and all sorts of anti-psychotics that never worked.

So it was a surprise when these low-risk patients managed to keep out of the Dynamic Duo's grasp for so long. Batman had a feeling it was due to his lack of knowledge on each of the inmates. Sure, he knew everyone working and living in Arkham Asylum and remembered general knowledge on their special skill-sets, abilities, and weaknesses, but it wasn't the same as having hands-on experience with them, as he did with the other baddies locked up in the asylum. With villains such as Professor Pyg and Mr. Toad, he could predict where they would hide and what their plans would be with their past actions. However, with these new inmates, he didn't really have a feel for their next move or their comfort zones.

It was this blurred area of knowing but not _really_ knowing that allowed Jason to get as hurt as he did.

The Dynamic Duo had been facing off against an inmate by the name of Darwin Dwayne, a very tall, very big, very strong man. He was in Arkham and trying to find out ways to handle his out-of-control MPD better, much like Two-Face. However, he'd been much more docile and it had been a surprise he had even tried to escape, much less succeeded at the feat when none of the bigger baddies could.

When Batman and Robin had come upon the brute of a man, he hadn't been Darwin but Darwin's angry, second personality, who did not appreciate being in Arkham as long as he had been and appreciated even less the fact the pair of vigilantes were there to take him back. All these irritations sent Darwin into a fit and, Bruce had to admit, the man was a very aggressive fighter when he wanted to be.

Though Jason had been pretty good at dodging most of the man's punches, there were some he was unable to dodge, still in the early stages of learning how to predict his enemies next move. Even with only a few hits in, Darwin had still managed to crack some of the boy's ribs with his heavy and hard punches even Bruce had trouble recovering from at instances. The second Robin had barely stood a chance if his mentor had trouble and those few hits Darwin had managed to put in had taken every breath Jason had inside him.

It led the duo, not for the first time, to the med-bay, where Alfred or Leslie took care of them gently while snipping sarcasm at their oh-so-impressive skills and reprimanding them for something or another.

Luckily for them, they hadn't had to call Leslie in to take care of Jason's injuries, Alfred's skills fully capable of fixing the young preteen up quite nicely. The only thing he couldn't do was shoo all of Jason's pain away and had settled for giving him a nice cocktail of all sorts of medication that put the newest Robin to sleep within a few minutes. And, as always after one of his partners ended up badly injured, Bruce stayed vigil over them until they were awake and coherent.

This time was no different.

Bruce silently watched Jason while he slept, pretending that he wasn't being paranoid or creepy by doing so. The man contemplated all sorts of things while he sat still in his seat, one arm crossed over his torso while the other pressed a hand to his chin. His blue eyes focused in and out as he acted like he didn't realize his eyelids were drooping over his cobalt orbs every once in awhile before he snapped them open again, determined to stay awake.

Unfortunately for the Dark Knight, that night's work had completely worn him out, as had worrying. It left him with little energy to spare and, soon enough, he was drifting off to sleep without him even realizing it and without one of Alfred's spiked drinks too.

It wasn't long before he was awake again though, feeling something off and wrong in his world ("Bat-Sense," as the rest of the League liked to call it; the bastards, every last one of them). Looking around and investigating the scene with his tired eyes, it didn't take any longer than a few seconds for Bruce to figure out what it was that had woken him up when he would normally be caught up in a deep sleep after a hard night's work.

…yup. Jason was gone.

"SHIT!" Bruce yelled, throwing himself out of his seat and looking around the infirmary. All his earlier exhaustion was gone and thrown out the nearest window without any remorse. After all, his second kid was missing and hopped up on drugs at the moment, which meant he was nowhere near lucid. Who the hell knew where he was going to go in this state of mind?

And Bruce knew, for a fact, that Jason was most-likely stealing things impulsively and looking for a safe way out of the Manor so he could head back to the streets. The Dark Knight didn't know why but, if Jason wasn't completely awake, he always reverted back to his Crime Alley days and attempted to escape Wayne Manor. He hadn't managed to slip out the door yet but who knew when Jason managed to get out of bed this time? The little street-rat could already be halfway there and wouldn't even realize he was leaving his home behind.

Rushing from the infirmary, Bruce searched the Cave for the preteen, calling his name again and again. The worried parent looked in every nook and cranny he knew of (which, was to say, _all of them_ ) and double-checked the ones he knew Jason liked to hide out in when he was mad or frustrated with something. When the Dark Knight found neither hide nor hair of the half-lucid preteen anywhere, he rushed up the steps.

"Jason!" Bruce called as the grandfather clock moved out of his way and the man zoomed out, cape billowing behind him. He scanned the large study in front of him but he knew Jason wouldn't be here so Bruce moved on, running through every room he came across and yelling the preteen's name at the top of his lungs. As he expected, he received no answer to his constant calls and yells but it was worth a shot anyways, wasn't it?

As Bruce moved past Jason's room, ready to dive in and search there for his delusional child, he heard Alfred call from down the hall, "Master Bruce! I am in need of assistance!"

Alfred? In need of assistance? …the fucking end of the world must be close by if Alfred needed help.

Bruce, sighing worriedly and his skin still prickling with the cold chills running down his spine, rushed after the call of his father-figure and found him standing beside an open window, looking up and out at something on the roof. The butler barely glanced at Bruce, not even taking notice of the costume he wore (which was strictly forbidden in the Manor for many reasons), and plainly informed, "Master Jason has been particularly sneaky today. He's currently looking for a way off the roof with a bag of valuables and peanut-butter and he keeps stumbling. Please do fetch him."

The Dark Knight didn't have to be asked twice and easily climbed through the windowsill, reaching up to grab the edge of the roof so he could pull himself up. Before he did, Bruce stopped and confusedly asked, " _Peanut butter?_ "

Dryly, the aging butler replied, "It was the only thing I could find missing in the kitchen."

Sighing and rolling his eyes, Bruce pulled himself up onto the roof easily and he muttered under his breath, " _Oh-h-h_ Jason…"

Sure enough, Jason was moving across the slanted rooftop silently, his bag over his shoulders and looking curiously like Santa Claus. However, he stumbled and wobbled a lot of his feet, swaying this way and that, and Bruce gave a lurch every time Jason came close to toppling over, which would surely send him over the side of the roof and to the unforgiving ground. So, as quickly as he could, Bruce scurried over to where the boy was and repeatedly called, "Jason! Come back, Jason! Let's go inside, Jason!"

As far as he knew, Bruce received no answer from the drugged-up preteen but he might've answered and Bruce just couldn't hear. Whenever he was given medication that made him drowsy, Jason had a tendency to talk really slurred and in a low mumble that had to be repeated a few times before Bruce, Alfred, or Leslie could understand. This time would be no different, if Jason decided it was worth it to reply to his mentor.

Bruce slowly drew closer to the boy, still calling his name and making as much noise as he could so Jason wouldn't be startled when his mentor finally reached him. No one wanted to be startled on the edge of a very large mansion rooftop.

However, Jason was still trying to escape and continued to stumble and trip over his feet as he tried to get away. Bruce walked carefully after him and, when it seemed that the boy wasn't going to give him a chance for anything, Bruce used an old technique that usually worked on him.

"Come on Jason! Let's go inside and get something to eat! We've got your favorite!"

Jason walked for a second longer before he stopped, still swaying every which way drunkenly. The preteen looked over his shoulder, his face scrunched up into a half-confused, half-willing look as he slurred something Bruce couldn't understand but knew it would most-likely consent to be led inside. So, once Bruce was close enough, he gently took Jason's hand and tugged in the direction of the window they left Alfred at. Jason followed behind obediently.

Heh-heh, food… It worked every time.

* * *

 _Tim (11 Years Old)_

* * *

Bruce sighed irritably as he listened to Tim worry himself sick over something so ridiculous. While he was not thrilled that another one of his kids had gotten caught in the crossfire during the heat of battle, it was also becoming less worrisome the more times it happened. Bruce didn't take injuries such as gun-shot wounds or a broken bone so seriously anymore. Sure, the kid would hurt for awhile (something Bruce always felt bad about) but they were always fine once they healed, ready to jump back into the battle again and help people who couldn't help themselves.

The only time Bruce really worried was when they had been beaten the crap out of and had multiple wounds from all sorts of things, such as the time Dick had the shit beaten out of him by Two-Face. Only then did he have trouble containing all of his emotions and had mini heart-attacks at every single thing that popped up, getting in his way.

This time, though, Tim had broken his leg. No one but himself had given it to him, the whole incident nothing more than an accident. The poor boy had shot his grapple but it hadn't quite latched onto the large flag-pole he had shot it at. The hook had slipped off and the third Robin had fallen right out of the sky. Luckily for the boy, Tim hadn't been too high up at the time and he would've been fine if he hadn't landed so clumsily and so heavily on his leg as he did. He could've walked away with nothing more than a few bruises if they Fates weren't being so mean to him today.

They'd called Leslie in to help with the kid this time. Alfred and the female doctor had been patient as they reset the bone, ignoring how a drugged-up Tim had mewled pathetically while Bruce stood off to the side, wincing every time. However, the medically-inclined duo had made quick work of the broken leg and, soon enough, Tim had a cast around his leg while Bruce made up lies for the boy to tell his father when he went home.

The only bright side that came out of this incident was that there was no chance that Tim was going to be able to sneak out of bed to go flying or to crawl out a window to escape to the roof with a bag of valuables and _peanut-butter_ over his shoulder (seriously, _what the hell_ had Jason been thinking in his delusional mind? Better question, was he thinking _at all_? Probably not, now that Bruce thought it).

Still… That meant Bruce had to entertain the child while he whimpered and whined, worrying himself over something that should be far, _far_ from the forefront of his mind. Seriously. Timothy Drake was the only kid Bruce knew who would be worrying about such a thing at this time of year.

"But Bruce~!" Tim whined again, making the man in question roll his eyes. The small child whimpered before continuing, "If I don't get my book read today, I won't be able to get my report done tomorrow! And I need to! I don't wanna fail~! Bruce, you gotta get me my book so I can read it! I need to I need to I need to!"

"First off, Timmy…" Bruce started, taking a moment to pause and sigh, rubbing his face again irritably. "You're asking for a book high above your grade level. The teacher's would probably want you to read something easier. Second of all, it's your favorite book. You should have the entire story memorized with how many times you've reread it. And lastly… It's _June_."

"Bruce, I need the book! You have to get it for me! I need to finish it so I can get my report done already! If I don't, mean Mrs. Pritchard is going to give me an F and I can't have an F on my report-card! I just can't!"

"One F isn't going to do much to your perfect score, Tim. Besides, you'll have it back up to its impressive GPA within a week. And, once again, it's the middle of summer. You don't have a book-report to do." Bruce said, trying his damn hardest to appease the boy and calm him down. So far, it'd been forty-five minutes and Tim acted as if he didn't hear a single word Bruce had said to him. And, once again, Tim mewled that he needed to have his book, which made Bruce rub his face as he asked, "And wasn't Mrs. Pritchard your third-grade teacher? What the hell were you doing reading frikkin Between Shades of Grey in third grade?"

"Bruce~!" Tim whined, pounding his little fists into the cot under him and turning carefully onto his side, jostling his leg only a little bit. However, everything around him was numb and he probably didn't feel any pain at all. "Please get me my book! I really, really, really need to read it soon! Please get my book, _please_!"

Sighing for the umpteenth time in the past ten minutes, Bruce began waving his hand around to calm the boy down and pinching the bridge of his nose with the other as he replied, "Alright, alright, I'll get it for you! Just calm down, Tim! And stop whining!"

Immediately, Tim calmed down and brightened dramatically, excited to be getting to work to keep his stellar GPA. Bruce got up from his seat, paused before he walked away from his ward's bedside, and then pointed at him with a stern look on his face. Voice deep and firm, the Dark Knight, "Don't try to go anywhere while I'm gone. Getting your book will only take me a minute or two and, if you try anything, I won't give it to you, understand?"

Tim nodded obediently, a terrified look on his face as he huddled under the blankets to emphasize that he wouldn't attempt to leave his spot. Bruce nodded at him before turning and leaving, repeating himself once more to the boy before he exited through the infirmary doorway. Tim squeaked that he understood and, relieved that he wouldn't have to keep this kid strapped down so he wouldn't try to escape, Bruce hurriedly walked to the steps and climbed them tiredly. As he came to the clock, it opened up and Alfred looked at him ascending, a distasteful expression overcoming his face as he said, "What have I told you about costumes in the Manor, sir?"

Bruce waved his father-figure off easily, replying, "I'm just getting Tim a book to humor him. It was the only way to calm him down. I'll be back down in the Cave in a minute."

Alfred only sighed, still irritated that his rule was being broken, but said nothing as he wandered into the cave again to check on Tim and bring him a mug of hot chocolate, his favorite. Bruce shut the clock behind the aging butler before moving around his study, searching for the specific book he wanted to give Tim. It took a minimum amount of time and, soon enough, he was following Alfred back down to the cave with the thick book in hand.

Wandering into the infirmary again, book in hand, Tim peeked over the lip of his cup as Alfred watched the newest Robin carefully, making sure the small child didn't spill any of the hot chocolate on himself on accident. The liquid was still warm and he didn't want to have to deal with a delirious child screaming over his drink burning him.

The black-haired child immediately perked when he saw Bruce, a book in hand, and he shook happily. Alfred took the mug from the boy's hands as he did, seeing the hot liquid trying to splash over the lip, but Tim hardly seemed to notice as Bruce approached him. He clapped, very much like a smaller child, and yelled, "Yeah, yeah, yeah! You brought me my book! I can read it now!"

The Dark Knight nodded as he walked up to Tim's side, handing the thick book with a small grin as the boy excitedly took it from him. "I did. Now will you be quiet?"

Tim nodded excitedly as he began opening the first pages up, scanning over all the publication pages in the front with all the legal work and other such official papers. Tim finally came to the first page of the story, settled easily into the cot under him, and placed the book in his lap. In an instant, he was calm and his glassy, blue eyes zoomed over the pages, not really seeing anything as he scanned the page.

Bruce looked up and saw Alfred was giving him a dry look at the paperback he had brought down. A slightly smug smirk on his face, Bruce shrugged at the older man and gestured to how Tim was now. Alfred only rolled his eyes at the display, breathing a deep sigh, before he turned on his heel and left to go do whatever it is that he did in his free-time.

Settling down in his chair again, Bruce watched Tim silently flip through the pages, sometimes humming an unfamiliar tune before he fell silent again. The Dark Knight's smug smile got a little bigger with each passing moment as he watched with amusement as the small child flipped through the pages. Finally, he couldn't take it any longer and he asked, "Hey Tim, how's the book so far?"

"Oh, it's really good!" Tim answered, grinning as his drooping eyes looked the page in front of him up and down, not a single word registering in his brain. If he could coherently think, he would've realized that Bruce had brought him down his most hated book, It by Stephen King.

* * *

 _Damian (10 Years Old)_

* * *

"This is ridiculous…" Bruce mumbled, reaching up to rub his aching temples while he kept one heavy, booted foot on Damian's lap so the boy couldn't slip away from the infirmary. However, the assassin-like child refused to stop squirming under him, twisting and turning as much as he could under his father's large and heavy foot. It didn't help that he, like the other Robins at some point, was drugged with sleepy and numbing medicine that made him feel all disconnected from the world.

If he had been completely lucid, Damian would have, no doubt, figured out a way to get out from under his boot by now or would have simply lifted it off him with his impressive strength (you know, for a tween). However, Bruce's hell-spawn of a child was almost completely knocked out so it shouldn't be too much longer that Bruce had to hold him down so he couldn't slip away like the venomous snake he was.

Once again, it had been another eventful night for the both of them. It was a fine mix between locking up the loony-birds, taking down the scumbags who believed themselves to be larger than life, and dealing with the powerful organizations of the world that refused to stay dead, no matter how many times Bruce and his wards shut down their evil schemes every time they surfaced. It was starting to get old with how many times they rose from their graves, claiming to have a plan that couldn't be defeated, no matter how much the Dynamic Duo tried.

Bruce just let them lie to themselves again and again, hoping they would get the message one day. However, important parts just kept getting lost in translation and it would probably be awhile before they got the idea.

Damian had handled the low-life scumbags as he usually did: with irritation, insults that would haunt you forever, and moves that stripped all the males of their manhood. As for the ones that needed to be taken back to the loony-bin where the men in the clean white coats could watch them, the fourth Bat-Boy handled with caution but still managed to come off haughty and over-confident anyways. While some of his pride was justified, Damian would eventually learn that he should never, ever underestimate the Arkham inmates.

It was handling the in-denial organization that Robin had had trouble. After all, fighting the League of Assassins had never been easy, especially when his mother was present and trying to sway her son's decision back to her side by showing her obvious displeasure at his actions. It always managed to mess with his head, no matter how much he denied it, and made him distracted.

In the fight, Damian had been clipped a few times during the battle by his mother and, though he'd never admit it, a few of her ninja underlings. While most were only flesh-wounds, there was one Talia had managed to get in on his side that was particularly deep and had gushed crimson blood all over Robin's suit. However, Damian had been the one to end the battle and the League of Assassins had retreated with their task unfinished, something that would surely displease Damian's grandfather.

After getting stitched up and medicated, this is where the event had led the two: Bruce holding Damian down easily with nothing but his foot as he lounged back in the chair beside the boy's cot as the fifth Robin tried to escape. And failed. Miserably.

As curses fell from the boy's mouth, Bruce rolled his eyes and continued to relax, going as far as to cross his other foot over his leg to make escaping that much harder. Damian yelled another incoherent curse in Arabic, thoroughly ticked off. It was obvious he was trying to give off the essence of an angry tiger but, thus far, had only succeeded in making himself look a kitten that wasn't getting his way. It wasn't very threatening and, if Dick were here, he'd surely be pinching Damian's cheeks in amusement as he cooed at the youngest Bat.

And it was that one reason that Dick wasn't there to help Bruce keep Damian subdued.

"Come on, Damian." Bruce said patiently, though the squirming was starting to test him patience. The Dark Knight watched as his son continued to wiggle this way and that, trying to escape from the legs laying across his lap but hardly getting them to budge. Rolling his eyes at the display, Bruce said, "You know, you should really just chill out and relax for a little while, Damian. Moving as much as you are isn't good for the stitches in your side. They're gonna pop if you keep going."

"Well Father, if you would so _kindly_ move your legs, I would stop attempting to pop them." Damian muttered darkly as he tried to maneuver onto his side, probably to get on his stomach where it'd be easier to get away. However, he couldn't seem to manage the simple movement and growled, "Now _get off me_."

" _Yeah-h-h_ , that's not gonna happen." Bruce said dryly, rolling his eyes as he grabbed a business magazine lying on the table to his side. The man absently flipped through it, scanning the shiny, smooth pages for an article that looked interesting. However, being the businessman that he was, he already knew most of the what the magazine told him. Only half-paying attention to an article, Bruce said, "Damian, why do you feel the need to get out of bed anyways?"

"There are things that I need to get done and I'll be damned if I let a couple of stitches hold me back from doing them." Damian stated stubbornly. Now he wasn't wriggling incessantly but was, once again, attempting to lift his father's legs off of his lap. However, he'd only get them up a quarter of an inch before his arms collapsed under him, stopping the ten-year-old from attaining his goals.

Looking up from the magazine on his lap, Bruce glared at his dreary son dryly. "First of all, don't use that kind of language around Alfred. He will wash your mouth with a bar of soap before you even realize what's happening. Second, it's not just a couple of stitches. You have a whole row of them on your side, Damian. Take it easy. Again, Alfred will have your head for being so careless."

"He never seems to get on your ass for being careless."

"…don't use my habits against me, you little brat."

Damian seemed to be pleased that he'd managed to grind his father's gears pretty well. However, the smug look only made him look even more tired than he had been. Still, he twitched and squirmed and wriggled until he fell back against the cot tiredly, barely an ounce of strength left in his bones. The young Robin wanted to pant from exhaustion but refused to do so in front of his father, who was still casually flipping through the magazine as he used his son as a foot-rest. Damian glared at the casualness surrounding the man, grumbling curses in his head.

"You can glower all you want but it's not gonna get you anywhere." Bruce stated, pausing at an article and quickly scanning over it before he flipped the page again. His eyes flickered to Damian's face, just in time to watch the boy's scowl darken even further, before Bruce focused on his reading material again, not even mildly concerned. "If you just went to sleep already, you could get out of bed sooner. Even think about it like that?"

The man's only biological son paused in his dark plotting to think about what his father had told him. In a sense, he was right (unsurprisingly) and Damian began pondering the idea more as an open option than a last resort. His lips twisted into a contemplating frown as he slumped further on the cot, arms crossed over his chest in a show of defiance that looked ridiculous on his tired and pouty self.

Bruce peeked at his son again while the boy mused over the thought and smirked smugly as he stared down at the magazine again with his blue eyes. Pleasantly, he flipped to another page and scanned its contents for anything that would interest him. However, nothing caught his eye and he continued onwards, reading through misleading headlines and uninformative articles.

The Dark Knight pretended not to notice when Damian began to slowly ease into a comfortable position under his legs. The boy pulled the sheets up around him, closing his tired blue eyes and resting his head gently against the pillow he'd been given awhile before. Damian stilled in an instant, quietly drifting off to sleep within a few minutes as he took his father's words to heart, wishing for his sleep to go by quickly so he could get back to his routine quickly.

Even with the boy still and quiet, Bruce refused to move his legs from the boy's lap for a little while, just to make sure he was actually asleep and not waiting for the Dark Knight to move so he could spring up suddenly and sprint for the hills. Bruce only made a move to get up when he flipped through the entire business magazine. After placing his feet on the ground and stretching, Bruce stood up from his spot and began wandering towards the exit to find some more reading material to pass the time. He paused in the doorway and called, "Oh and Damian, don't try to slip away while I'm gone. You had three older brothers; I know every single trick in the book."

All he got was a loud groan in response.

* * *

 **Haha, yeah~! More obnoxious children stories~! If you read Questions and Children's Nightly Problems, this formatting shouldn't be too much of a surprise! If you're new, welcome! I hope you enjoyed! I sure did as I watched this story become 3000 words longer than the last installment... *twitchy-twitchy***

 **Again, this story is for my best friend and twin-sister, Kinzy! This is her extremely late x-mas present because I completely failed to write a Doctor Who one-shot and watch the show in general... Sorry, girl, but I hope this makes up for it. ^^**


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